Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Growing up, I was not a sports fan.My dad was.Sports on tv was new and Daddy watched every televised game he could
catch.

My disinterest was challenged when my daughter, Deidre,
joined a soccer team, then softball.She played soccer through junior high, and pitched fast pitch softball
through her senior year, but then other activities caught her attention.

I was never athletically inclined, which probably
accounts for my disinterest in sports but about twenty years ago, I stopped on
the figure skating event of that year's Olympic games-- because I liked what ever music was playing.I was stunned when the man picked up the
woman with one hand, skated across the ice with her in the air, then flipped
her --head over heels in front of
him.She landed on her feet and they
skated side by side as if that whole sequence was NORMAL.

And I wondered, "How do people get their bodies to
do things like that?" Hell, I can't even dance.

The figure skating had my attention for a while.At some point, though, I
missed a season and when I tried to watch again, the contestants were a whole
new crop of up and comings.My
favorites were gone.

My total disinterest in sports returned and stayed for
many years.

My husband, Ronnie, had about as much interest in sports
as I did unless he was in a "football pot".Even then he didn't much care who won as long as his numbers were
in the final score.

Two years ago, in 2010, right after Ronnie was diagnosed
with cancer, the Texas Rangers went to the World Series for the first
time.It was late in the summer, but we
became Rangers fans.We got to know the
names and faces of our team players, which ones were most likely to thrill us
with a homerun and which ones we could depend on to bring the runs in.We whooped and hollered through September
and October.When the Rangers didn't
win the World Series, we were disappointed but we had a new passion, Texas
Rangers Baseball.

By the time the 2011 season started, though, Ronnie was
paralyzed. He watched several games sitting in his power chair. But as his body
began to shut down, so did his interest in worldly things.

After he passed away in August, I watched the Rangers go
for the World Series again, but my life had changed so drastically in such a
short time, I don't remember much at all about that competition or anything
else I did through most of that fall and winter.

By the time the 2012 baseball season started, I was
ready.I had a new friend and
co-worker, Dawn Dockum, who is a Rangers' fan, to share the games with.

I have learned that pitching a baseball in the Major Leagues has become an art, backed by a lot of
science.And hitting those different
pitches – sliders, curves, off speed pitches, and fast balls at 97 mph, is
increasingly difficult for even the best hitters like Josh Hamilton, Michael Young, David Murphy and
Mike Napoli.

There is also a mind game that goes on between the
pitcher and the hitter that I was unaware of until recently.I thought baseball was a "hit or
miss" challenge, but it is so much more than that.

The announcers say things like "That was a knee
level slider but he (the pitcher) couldn't get him (the batter) to chase
it," which indicates to me that whether the pitch was labeled by the umpire, a
"ball" or a "strike" the pitcher threw it -- where he threw
it -- on purpose in an effort to get the batter to swing.

One night, I was biting my nails as Joe Nathan threw 3
"balls" in a row to the last batter in the final inning in a very
tight game. One was high, one was low and one was way high and I wondered,
"What's wrong with him tonight?" Then the announcer said, "Those
aren't mistakes.He 's doing it to keep
the batter's eyes moving, to keep him off balance."

It is as much a psychological game as a game of skill and
ability.

I marveled one day as I watched Elvis Andrus with his
back to home plate catch a hard hit ball, then spin completely around and
accurately throw the ball to the first baseman.If I had turned around that fast, I would have been so disoriented, I'd
have taken ten minutes to figure out where first base was. Elvis' atheliticism reminded me of the graceful figure skaters that I'd watched so many years ago.

One announcer explained that plays like that are not
happenstances. They practice, practice, practice those amazing manuevers -- just like the figure skaters, only ball players are constantly dealing with the "wild card" of which way is the ball going to go and at what speed?

"You need to go to a game," Dawn told me several times."There's nothing like the atmosphere of being in the ball park!"

This past weekend, thanks to Gary Silverman and my friend, Tina Haapala, who works for Mr. Silverman, I got to go to the Rangers' Ball Park in Arlington and watch Matt Harrison pitch to the Chicago Whitesox.

Driving up to The Ball Park was an experience all its own. It is an awesome stadium. It's next door to the Dallas Cowboy's stadium, Six Flags Over Texas and Hurricane Harbor, so the entire area just screams "You're gonna have a good time!"

We paid $12 to park but we ended up about as close as one can get to the front entrance. That was awesome. Our section was in right field and as soon as we found our seats, I could see all the familiar figures out on the field, Ian Kinsler in his traditional uniform style with his stockings over his pant legs, Nelson Cruz was right in front of us and Matt Harrison was warming up.

We'd met Gary Silverman, and some others at Pappadeaux for an early dinner before hand so I didn't get a ball park hot dog. I did buy my 2 year old grandson, Seth an Ian Kinsler t shirt, and for my great niece, Samantha, I got a pink Rangers outfit.

I was impressed that everyone around us was so friendly and courteous. Behind me, across the aisle, a man bought one of the two foot long hotdogs. It looked like it was fully loaded with all the trimmings plus chile. As he was trying to get to his seat several chairs over from the end, he dropped it -- all over a man in front of him.

There was a lot of groaning and apologies and laughter as the man who got dumped on took it with a sense of humor.

Everything settled down and the ball game was well underway, when I heard a commotion from that same area. I turned to look. The hot dog dumper had gone and bought another two foot hot dog. When he headed toward his seat carrying his food as carefully as possible, everyone within dumping range, including the man who had already had been dumped on, vacated their seats and let him pass. A tremendous applause -- equal to Mike Napoli's homerun, went up when the man was seated with his food.

At the beginning of the 9th inning, the announcer told us that there were 47,580 people in attendance, another sellout crowd. As far as I knew there was no trouble.

The Rangers didn't win the game. That was a bit of a downer. I like to see them win. They are so excited and animated when they win.

But I don't use the word "lost" because when players are as good at their sport as all these guys are, they cannot be classified as "losers" in any sense of the word.

Thanks again to Gary Silverman, Tina Haapala, The Texas Rangers, the Chicago Whitesox and all the good folks who make an evening like that happen. It was great! I had a wonderful time!

Thursday, July 26, 2012

I took this picture this morning as I was sitting out on the patio soaking in the peace of the early morning before getting ready to go to work.

On top of the gas pump is the last piece of a cedar log. It's another one of those small things that carries a big memory of Ronnie.

We walked in Lucy Park nearly every day for many years. The twelve foot cedar log lay on the ground in among some growing trees. Every time we passed it, Ronnie would say, "I'd like to have that piece of cedar," or "I'm gonna get that one of these days."

We went back to Lucy Park to walk after Ronnie's surgery. When we started past the cedar stump, he handed me Shelbie's leash. When I realized his intent, I tried to help, but he said "I got it," and up the hill he went, dragging the stump to the street. We continued our walk then came back and loaded the cedar trunk into the back of my Blazer. When we got home, he got out the chain saw and cut it into pieces that would fit in the chiminea, then quartered some of them so it would last longer. "I love the smell of that cedar," he'd say as we sat together on the patio in the cool evenings of fall and winter with a fire blazing in the chiminea, listening to the pop and crackle of the fire, our neighborhood settling in for the night, and hoping that the doctors were wrong.

I'm stingy with my cedar and I placed the top portion of that that Ronnie brought home up on the gas pump as a reminder that pleasure comes from the simple things -- like the scent of cedar, and memories of a man who took the time to appreciate it.

It's beginning to look like it might rain. The birds are singing nearby -- and in the distance. A light breeze is stirring the windchimes. It is very peaceful out here.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

I get asked that a lot by folks who are waiting for the third book in the Kirkland Family saga. Finally, I have a better answer than "Hell if I know. I haven't seen or heard from him lately."

Writing a novel -- or anything else for that matter, requires that the writer have several things available, such as a way to record thoughts, meaning anything from pen and paper, to a computer or a voice recorder. It helps to have a plot and characters developing. But the most important item to have is time and the ability to focus. That's what has been missing in my quest to get the third book written.

The story had stalled before my husband got sick, but I knew what I was going to do to get it up and running again. After he was diagnosed, my life changed in ways I never expected. I had never encountered anything in my 62 years that felt more important than writing until I was told that my life long partner wouldn't be with me much longer.

But it's been nearly a year since he passed on. Most of the projects I started after he passed away are either finished or getting close. My mind is beginning to work the way it did when nothing was more important to me than finding time to write.

Recently, I attended a writing workshop hosted by William Bernhardt. He said, "if you want to ramp up the tension in your novel, ask yourself, 'how could this get any worse?'"

I did that regarding the third novel, When Hell Freezes Over" and the answer came in one of those moments that feels like the downhill side of a rollercoaster.

So I wrote a new beginning for When Hell Freezes Over. See what you think.

Chapter One

Revis Kirkland holstered the 45 and stared down at the dead heifer.

Luke McKinney spoke from close behind him. “Ain’t nothin’ worse than startin’ a day off like this.”

“Hell! I don’t know!” Revis snapped, feeling frustrated and angry. On an impulse, he held his watch to the light. Three thirty. There would be no going back to bed now.

Revis pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck to keep the water dripping off his hat from going down his back. The late May morning had turned chilly with a welcome drizzle starting just about the time Revis and Luke got the call from Harley that they had cows out.

“Always somebody pissed about somethin’,” Luke muttered.

Revis turned to him. “Who’s mad? I don’t know anything about anyone being mad at us – or me. Is there something ya’ll aren’t telling me?”

“Well it sounds like somebody is,” Harley said. “Fences don’t usually get cut for no reason.” He pointed to the disabled car being winched up behind the tow truck for the ride to the repair shop. “This ain’t good, Revis! You’re liable to end up in a law suit if you don’t figure out what’s goin’ on and fix it.”

“That’s your job, Harley!” Revis reminded him.

Harley’s shoulders went back. His barrel of a chest came up and both hands turned into fists. “I have a murder investigation going on, I’ll have you to know!”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Revis said and walked toward his truck. His hired hands, Jones, Spence and the new guy, Mason Gaines were already stringing new wire. Not hearing the familiar sound of footsteps behind him, Revis called over his shoulder, “Come on, Luke. We gotta go.”

Revis got into his truck, switched on the headlights, pushed in the clutch and turned the key, then looked to see if Luke was coming. He wasn’t. He was still talking animatedly with Harley.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Thursday, February 9, 2012

I went out to my sister's at Lake Arrowhead last night
and upon leaving, the full moon lighted my way back to the car. It was stunning
as always when its still low in the sky. With Valentines Day strong on my mind,
I remembered an old Jim Reeves song, "Moonlight and Roses ... bring wonderful
memories of you." I went in search of the song but Itunes only listed Karoke
versions and one by someone else. It was late so that was as far as I went. I
know my kids will find it and send it to me before Valentines Day gets
here.

On the last Valentine's Day that Ronnie worked at PPG, I decided to
send him a snack basket. We had a huge heart shaped balloon that, when tapped,
it played "I Wanta Hold Your Hand." I bought a boat load of snacks and put them
into a big basket, wrapped it up and was going to have the delivery man take it
out to PPG, then I remembered Ronnie saying that anything edible that came into
the breakroom seemed to be a gift to all. Even though I knew he didn't need to
eat all those snacks himself, I didn't want anyone to ruin the moment for him.
He was working the evening shift, so when I got off work, I drove out there and
put the basket with the balloon tied to it inside his pickup, then I went home
to wait.

He came in about twelve thirty grinning from ear to ear. He
said when he opened the door of his truck, the balloon floated toward him and he
thought he had an intruder so he punched it and it started screaming "I wanta
hold your hand!"

We laughed about that everytime we thought about it.
And he loved it. He loved it when I made him know he was special to me -- and
he was very special to me.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

As I begin this brand new day, my dominant intent is to
feel good. Nothing is more important or more essential to my wellbeing than
that I look for that which pleases me. So, today, regardless of where I am, what
I'm doing or who is with me, I will look for that which pleases me. I will give
others the benefit of the doubt because I want everyone to thrive and flourish
and I know no one wishes anything for me but the best.

The hip pain is gone. I
knew if the flooring work could smooth out so would my level of happiness and
the aggravating discomfort would dissipate. It's like my foundation is sturdy
again. I can not express how wonderful it feels to walk in there, and have a
solid floor beneath my feet.

Two days ago, I was thinking about selling
the house and renting an apartment to get away from this but today I feel
totally different. I have brand new windows and a brand new central heating and
cooling system -- and now I can see that soon, I'm going to have new floors and
that everything eventually will be put back in place and I can spread out in my
own space. I'll be able to sit at my desk with my brand new Mac computer and
look out at my back yard, which gives me about the same view as looking out my
back door.

That deep inside sadness returned sometime last week --
probably partly due to my house being in such a mess, but today, it's gone
again.

Today I get to go to work and help get ready for Valentines Day.
Dan the Handy Man is supposed to pick up the flooring I bought yesterday. Life
is good and it is supposed to be enjoyable, so let's get on with it.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

As I begin this brand new day, my dominant intent is to
be happy.Nothing is more important or
more essential to my well-being than that I look for that which pleases me, that
I find fun, interesting, joyful things to think about and talk about.So today, regardless of where I am, what I'm
doing or who is with me, I will focus on the things around me that please
me.In other words, I'm gonna get happy
– in every way I can.

So what does happy feel like on a day to day, minute by
minute basis? Probably more pleased than
displeased, more satisfied than aggravated.Happy might come when you feel the relief of letting go of or giving up a
struggle that seems hopeless and has seemed so for quite a while. You might feel it when you make the decision
to stop worrying about anything and everything, when you finally say, "That's
it.That's all I can do," or"This problem really doesn't belong to me, so
why am I stressing out about it?"

Happy could be playing with a pet, your child or
grandchild. It can be seeing new growth on a favorite plant in the window,
seeing a good mood smile on the face of a loved one.Happy comes in fleeting moments that we often
don't notice or stop to appreciate.

For me it's when I see the daffodils and iris come up
in my flowerbeds after a deep freeze of a winter.It comes when I see that my gold fish and koi
are still alive in my pond after having a sheet of ice over it for several
days.It happens when a sweet fragrance
comes to me from the flowers in the cooler every day, or from clean towels or
sheets.

I feel happy when I have a fresh package of paper, a
page of postage stamps, or a new notebook to write in. I feel it when I have a
stretch of time that isn't already obligated to something else. I feel it every
time I sell a book, every time I pull up and stop in my driveway and see my
house waiting for me to come inside. I feel it every morning when I smell the
fresh coffee brewing, when I watch the sun come up through my beautiful new
windows and when I watch the sun set, painting the sky in pinks and
lavenders.

I feel happy when I walk into my bedroom and see that I
made the bed earlier.

I feel happiness when I get animal pictures via
email.I feel it when I see the cute
faces of teddy bears and other stuffed animals.

Happy feels like seeing my children, my grandchildren
and old friends. It's seeing their name come up
on my cell phone. It's finding those sturdy paper coffee cups that come
with clamp on lids in a stack of ten for a dollar.It's cold wind blowing on my face when I'm
having a hot flash.It's having a hot
flash when I'm cold.

We humans have
a tendency to consider happiness as a long term situation, sometimes even a
future goal and in doing that, we minimize the importance of or completely
ignore these momentary bits of joy that can occur hundreds of times a day—if
we're paying attention.Life is
now.This moment right now is the only
guaranteed time we have, so why spend it agonizing about current events over
which you have little or no control?Look for the things that please you.You'll be surprised how many different things in life will make you
smile.You might be surprised at how
much better you'll feel about a whole bunch of stuff when you "get happy -- in
every way you can".

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Wow! What an amazing experience that was! Cowboy True is
now many memories. I often wonder why I put myself into situations where I know
I'm going to be totally out of my comfort zone. The best reason I can figure is
because stepping out of my own space is when I meet new, interesting people who
have a passion for something I know nothing about.

Last night, I met Ann
Ayres. She does bronze pieces depicting the lives of famous cowgirls like Bonnie
McCarroll. Bonnie started trick riding as a girl. She married McCarroll when she
was 14. A horse threw her, dragged her and killed her when she was 31. The # 1
sculpture of Bonnie McCarroll is in the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma
City. Ann didn't start sculpting until she was 51. She explained the bronzing
process from start to finish, from which I mainly gained an understanding of why
bronze pieces are always so expensive. She spoke with admiration for the artists
who inspired her and with pride for the accolades that have come in regard to
her work. She is an incredible artist. She and her work have been featured in
Cowboys and Indians and in Ketchpen magazines. You can see her work at www.annayresbronzes.com. I couldn't
afford any of Ann's bronzes but I did buy some silver horse shoes that she
makes. They'll make nice napkin rings -- or Christmas ornaments.

I met Mejo Okon, a woman from
San Angelo. She paints cattle and horses and cowboys. Most of her paintings
were large and close. For me, if the eyes of an animal are not done well, it
ruins the whole picture. Mejo gets a high five for her paintings and another for
the eyes. I bought one of her paintings of twoparade horses. She gave me
the right to name them. Since they are big boys, I've decided to name them
Revis and Luke. They are featured on her website at www.mejookon.com

I met Jack and Karen
Milchanowski from Bowie. He had a great story about a picture of three wolves
that he went out into the wilds of somewhere and lured them in with frozen
deer meat. He said the wolves came so close at times they brushed against him.
When they ran out of meat, he said the wolves went away, no confrontation, no
threat from either side. I thought that was neat. I bought one of Jack's new
western prints. It is a cowboy and his horse. I was originally attracted to
it because the horse is so beautiful. Jack told me he had intended to have a
series of pictures of this cowboy and his horse, but the day of their shoot, one
of the horse's legs was bothering him and the man wouldn't ride him. Jack said,
"that man really loves his horse." I loved that tidbit of information about the
man so I bought it. Jack talked about taking three exposures of one scene and
putting them together on the computer which completely changes a photograph.
Then they are printed on metallic paper.

You can see Jack's wildlife
photography on his website at www.jemfoto.com Jack and Karen bought a copy
of each book Saturday Morning about 10am. By the time I left at 9pm, Jack was
nearly finished with Come Hell or High Water. I believe he set a new record.
He emailed me Monday and said he read The Hell About Stallions after they got
home from Wichita Falls on Sunday. Another record! It's always an extra special
treat when a man enjoys my books.

Su McMahen makes beautiful bling stuff.
From her booth I bought a serving tray with cowgirl sayings all over the inside
and bling all around the edge. She came and bought Come Hell or High Water and
gave me a pair of Texas star earrings. She is a beauty with blonde spiky hair,
lots of huge jewelry, and a readysmile. She teaches grade school in Vernon.
Something about her assured me that I'd be glad for her to be my grandson's
teacher.

I ate dinner Friday night with Martha and Jimmy Stewart, (their
real names believe it or not) and Dr. and Mrs. Tom Sherriff. The steaks and
baked potatoes were cooked to perfection and the conversation around the table
was fun and interesting. Saturday night we were served -- chuck wagon style --
by the Chuck Wagon Gang at the Texoma Cowboy Church. Enchiladas with beans and
rice. Again, it was excellent.

I met Nancy Scott and Carol Sales of the
Kemp Center for the Arts, www.kempcenter.org wonderful ladies who
helped and encouraged me to come to Cowboy True, then checked in every so often
to make sure I had everything I needed.

That brings me to Dotti Laseur.
Dotti is one of those special people who as soon as I met her, I knew we'd be
friends. She's funny and energetic. She loves animals and flowers and ART. She
has tea parties in her apartment at the Holt Hotel and in her doll house at Lake
Kickapoo. She never meets a stranger. She voluntarily and tirelessly promotes
the Wichita Falls Literature and Art Review magazine because it is a wonderful
publication, and one that speaks well for Wichita Falls.

Being allowed to
participate in Cowboy True as an artist was an honor that before hand had me
chewing my nails down into the quick, but thanks to all the above mentioned
folks and many others, all the memories I made this past weekend are good ones.

Monday, March 19, 2012

As I begin this beautiful new rainy day, my dominant
intent is to feel good. Nothing is more important or more essential to my
wellbeing than that I look for things to appreciate and praise.

Yesterday
evening, in anticipation of some heavy rains, I cleaned out the gutter in the
street. Hopefully the downpours will clean the pavement. The City dug a big
hole last summer to fix a water leak next to my driveway. Then Atmos Energy dug
another in the island between the sidewalk and the street. Both made a big mess
but the best cleanser is a hard rain to wash the street. When it dries out, I'll
clean it up again and then it will be easier to keep it clean.

The
house next door has been vacant for nearly two years. With no one to tend to
it, the weeds had grown five feet tall and had two to three inch diameter
stems. Saturday, some people came to clean it up. I'm not sure what they used
to cut the weeds: I heard a lawnmower, a weedeater, a more powerful weedeater
and some kind of motor I didn't recognize. They worked on it all day Sunday,
too. Thank goodness, they did do some cleaning up. (The last guys that mowed
it left the mess.) When they finished, it looked horrible, brown and ugly but
with this rain, in a few days, even if it is all weeds, it'll look pretty and
green.

I've been digging up the weeds in my yard. I sprayed a few with
Roundup, but it takes so long to kill the plant and for some reason, nearly
impossible to get them out of the ground. I'm seeing a lot of the St. Augustine
coming out and theres quite a bit of Bermuda on the island, so maybe I will have
grass this year afterall.

I put out four five gallon buckets to catch
some of the run off to water plants that are too far under the over hang of the
house to get a good soaking.

I recieved a call this morning from Mr.
Teter. He and his helper will be here Thursday to lay the floors. He says
they'll be done in a day and a half -- so by the weekend, I should be able to
spread out -- put things back where they belong.

Yesterday, I painted the
upper cabinets in the kitchen, I bought new handles, black ones that right now
look sort of out of place, but when the black and white floor is back, they will
fit right in.

I'm happy about so many things. It's ridiculous to let a
"pothole" spoil that.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

One of Ronnie's favorite endeavors was growing tomatoes.
He had no aspirations to be a farmer or even a home gardener, but every year
he'd put out a few tomato plants, always in pots, usually two or three different
kinds. Over the years, he decided he liked the cherry size ones best -- because
they're sweet and don't take so long to get ripe.

He never bought
enough plants to even get one salad serving at a time, though, so mostly I left
the tomato plants to his care and chuckled under my breath when he'd bring in
two or three tiny tomatoes and put them in my kitchen window for me to use. "I
brought ya some "maters," he'd say.

By late February, Ronnie was
paralyzed and in a wheel chair but come spring, he had me go get some tomato
plants. I arranged them in pots and set them in his preferred location, right
behind our bedroom. They did fairly well, grew tall and put out lots of
foilage, but it got too hot too soon and the drought set in. Every day when I'd
come in from tending to the pigeons and fish pond, he'd ask, "Did you water my
tomatoes?" I did but the weather took a major toll on them and by the time
Ronnie passed on, the plants were dead -- or so I thought.

Somethings
are just harder to do than others when it comes time to "clear out" the pieces
of another person's discarded life. I 'd look at the crispy white wilted
foilage on the tomato plants and remember Ronnie telling me, every year, "If
you'll keep them watered, you 'll have some fall tomatoes." That seldom
happened, but I left the plants in place which for a while only served as a
stark reminder of the miserable summer.

A few weeks ago -- after the
rains came, I looked out the beautiful brand new window in my bedroom and
noticed that the tomato plant had revived at the top and there was an abundance
of tiny green berries all over it. By the time the bitter cold arrived, the
berries had turned into green "cherries" so I picked them and put them in my
kitchen window.

As you can see, they are beginning to ripen. I've
already eaten a couple. I thought about Bruno as the delicious flavor mingled
with the sweet memories, "I brought you some 'maters ."

About Me

Besides being a lifelong writer, Paula also has 45 years experience in floral design. She loves flower gardening, animals and nature. She lives with her daughter and grandson, two dogs, a cat, a parrot, and two cockatiels. Outside, she feeds, numerous squirrels, a flock of Birmingham Rollers, one hen and a rooster, and two box turtles.